Graduate school stole something from me. This "something" was an amalgamation of numerous smaller things—diverse yet unified, their collective loss representing my final shred of innocence.

A torrent of thoughts rush forth, spilling over one another, each striving eagerly toward the open whitespace of my computer screen. The multitudinous nature of my thoughts, coupled with my desire to share them, often overwhelms me—particularly as my internal editor stands ever-ready, quick to prune and polish even my most sparing word choices. I battle an incessant critique: scrutinizing each sentence’s logical coherence, obsessing over maintaining the reader’s interest, and burdening myself with the expectation of articulated brilliance. What an immense and ultimately pointless pressure to impose on oneself, regardless of skill. As if skill was ever truly a prerequisite at the outset of any endeavor. The daily headlines from the highest echelons of government in the U.S. and my own interactions with peers and supervisors in graduate school provide ample evidence to the contrary.

The Cost of Academia

In graduate school, my advisor was particularly petulant, emotionally capricious, and obsessed with control and power. She reacted extremely negatively when challenged or questioned, even if the questions were innocuous—publicly berating and embarrassing lab students, stonewalling all communication for weeks at a time, and using emotional intimidation to prevent further clarification or engagement. Frequently, she resorted to grandstanding, fabricating answers rather than admitting uncertainty, which only obfuscated the subject and her own morality further.

Increasingly, it seems evident that the most critical factor for flourishing within our communities is not genuine competence or merit, but rather the connections we hold. Vast swaths of unqualified individuals occupy positions at society's highest levels not due to legitimate skill or expertise, but through their proficiency at playing the social game. The pursuit and achievement of status drive many human behaviors—status encompassing likability, acceptance, and social safety.

“The urge for rank is ineradicable. It's the secret goal of our lives, to win status for ourselves and our game - and gain as much of it over you and you and you as we can. It's how we make meaning. It's how we make identity.” — Will Storr, The Status Game

People-Pleasing & Deception

Is it true, then, that our inherent nature is fundamentally driven by a desire to be viewed favorably, even superiorly, compared to others? I once held the perhaps naïve belief that goodness formed the foundation for many people's actions. My last remaining piece of innocence was my deluded conviction that individuals operate predominantly on ethics of honesty, transparency, and kindness—not universally, but at least in earnest reciprocity.

Graduate school—and the way my brain adapted to those and subsequent experiences—destroyed that notion for me. However, this deterioration of my idealistic perceptions began long before, though I didn't recognize it then, perhaps because I too participated through habitual people-pleasing.

Even those whose behaviors appear kind on the surface might harbor ulterior motives. Consider people-pleasers, a self-righteous and endlessly justifying group (even if only to ourselves). This identity, although outwardly benevolent, frequently masks dishonesty. Such actions typically stem from fear—fear of negative reactions, loss of community, or adverse perceptions of the self. These behaviors are fundamentally deceptive: by withholding truth, we deny others the chance to see situations clearly and make informed decisions regarding their relationships with us.

The Weight of Obfuscation

Is the path to hell paved with good intentions, or are we fooling ourselves in assuming intentions were ever genuinely good? This is the crux of my current frustration—the constant obfuscation of true intent. People frequently suppress their reactions, moderate facial expressions, code-switch depending on their audience, and meticulously select their words. Certainly, some level of caution is a sign of maturity and wisdom. Pausing to reflect before voicing haughty opinions, withholding our deepest secrets from strangers, or refraining from burdening already-overwhelmed friends are acts of genuine care.

Yet, at times, such guarded behavior emerges from fear and cowardice—defense mechanisms that, though understandable, render life exhausting and irritating.

Seeking Honesty

In reflecting on my own similar behaviors, I realize they originated in deferential naïveté and a lack of self-esteem. True honesty—not devoid of kindness or situational awareness—requires courage. Expressing how we genuinely feel ultimately frees us, enabling authentic human connections. Through openness, vulnerabilities previously perceived as weaknesses become avenues for meaningful relationships. Honesty facilitates our own growth and reveals common ground that binds us to others, transcending fear and paving the path toward genuine connection.

Thus, the question I'm continually left pondering—as evidenced by my persistent thought patterns—is how are these behaviors influenced by our brain's internal mechanisms?